


5 Times Someone Threatened to Murder Gendry (and 1 Time He Didn't Mind)

by vixleonard



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, show canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 09:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18688981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vixleonard/pseuds/vixleonard
Summary: Gendry knew loving Arya was likely dangerous.  He just didn't realizehowdangerous.





	5 Times Someone Threatened to Murder Gendry (and 1 Time He Didn't Mind)

**Author's Note:**

> All show canon, so no knowledge of the books is needed to follow this.

**One**

They all just _stop_ , these terrible, mindless creatures with blue eyes and fallen friends’ faces, dropping where they stand, and for a moment, Gendry waits, certain they will all spring to life again and succeed in killing them all. But then the dragon falls too, and the only ones moving are the living and it isn’t until Gendry looks at Tormund, appearing just as stunned as he is, that they may have somehow won.

All of them make their way towards Jon and the dead dragon: Gendry, Tormund, Sam, Brienne, Podrick, the Kingslayer, Ser Davos, the Hound, the Unsullied commander, strangers who managed to slash their way to another day. It is only then Gendry realizes how heavy his hammer feels, how his arms absolutely _ache_ and his fingers are clenched so tightly around the handle, he fears they may be stuck that way. 

“Did we win?” the wildling asks, putting a voice to Gendry’s own curiosity, and Gendry’s stomach drops as he realizes who he isn’t seeing gathering here in the yard.

“Where is the queen?” the Unsullied commander asks.

“The crypts,” Sam manages to get out between gasping breaths, desperately swallowing air as if he hasn’t been able to catch his breath in years.

If Jon hears the questions, he doesn’t show it. Instead he spins towards the godswood, already moving, and then he stops. Gendry isn’t certain why but then he sees them, emerging from the smoke, slow and uneven but _alive_.

Arya pushes Bran in his chair, the uneven terrain even more difficult to navigate with bodies littered everywhere. She is bleeding from her forehead, her right eye bruised, looking more tired and beaten up that he’s seen her since they were kids, but Arya is _alive_.

The Hound laughs, a rough burst of unexpected noise. “She fucking did it.”

Gendry isn’t certain what to do as he watches Jon rush toward his siblings, embracing them both with a ferocity that makes Gendry think of Arya, young and on the brink of tears, swearing she could be his family. He’s never had a family, never allowed himself to even imagine one, but seeing the Stark siblings interact, it makes him understand why Arya fought so hard to get back to them.

Jon motions for assistance at the same time the occupants of the crypts come spilling into the yard. Gendry is distracted for a moment and when he turns his attention back to the Starks, the Hound and Brienne each have one side of Bran’s chair, carrying him over the bodies. Jon has his arm slung around Arya’s shoulders, relief and pride on his face, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head before moving towards the gates to open them in hopes of finding survivors.

When his eyes find Arya’s, Gendry’s heart stops in a way it never did during any of the fighting. He’d woken on those sacks alone, and if she hadn’t left marks on his body, he would’ve believed he’d imagined what they did together. Even when they’d spent every day together, he’d never been able to predict Arya, which was something he loved about her. But now…Gods, he wished they’d had more time, that he could’ve taken the time to get to know her all over again before…

It takes him a moment to realize Arya is coming towards him, those inscrutable grey eyes of her fixed on him. Gendry takes a step, stops, reconsiders and takes another. They meet somewhere in the middle, and he isn’t certain if he should wrap her up in a hug, if he should touch her at all. Arya doesn’t seem to know either, which makes him feel.

“You didn’t die,” she says, a hint of surprise in her voice, and on another day, he’ll tease her about it because there _will_ be another day and he won’t be so surprised he survived too. 

“Did you kill – “

Gendry’s voice disappears as Arya seems to sag into him, resting her bloodied forehead squarely in the center of his chest. He is filthier than she is, covered in blood that is mostly not his own, and it is not the sort of embrace suitable for a highborn lady. But _this_ highborn lady just slew the Night King, so he suspects she doesn’t mind so much.

“You didn’t die,” she repeats, and it’s thicker now, reminding him of the cave and how stupid he’d been all those years ago to try to push her away because he was afraid someday they’d find themselves right here.

“Wasn’t ready to leave you yet,” he finds himself admitting, starting to let his arms creep up around her back to hold her proper, but then Arya is pulling away, following the sound of her sister saying her name.

Gendry tells himself it is all right because he is alive and she is alive, and they have the rest of their lives to sort out all of this.

And then the Hound’s heavy hand falls on his shoulder and the larger man growls against his ear, “You touch that girl, you’re going to wish the Night King got you.”

Gendry’s had his life threatened often enough to know when someone is being serious, and though he doesn’t know Sandor Clegane well, Gendry knows he means what he says.

He also knows that means the Hound can _never_ find out what happened before the battle.

* * *

**Two**

“Where are you sleeping?”

It is after the funeral pyres Arya finds him, seated on some broken, scorched rubble, leaning against a wall with his eyes drooping shut. He hasn’t slept a full night since before the battle, and the tents that had been set up to shield the survivors who couldn’t fit in the castle weren’t exactly restful. 

“Right now? Here.” He scrubs at his face. “Not a lot of beds available right now.”

“You haven’t been sleeping in the hall with the others?”

“Women and children got the beds first and then the wounded. I’m not any of those.”

Arya shakes her head. “Come on.”

“Come on where?”

“Come on,” she repeats, walking away and just expecting him to follow.

He does because she’s never led him wrong, but it still takes nearly all his energy to do it. 

The castle managed to withstand a great more damage than Gendry thought it had but it also meant entire towers and buildings, like his forge, were destroyed. Between the wights and the ice dragon, it would take a fortune and another army besides to rebuild Winterfell, and Gendry is grateful he isn’t the one who has to sort all of that out. Lady Sansa has already been at work on it, and there is something about her manner that reminds him of Lord Stark that day he came to the shop in King’s Landing, something that says she is important and to be listened to when she speaks.

Arya opens the door to a chamber and motions for him to enter. Gendry obeys, glancing around the room. It is clean and simple, a few sparse furnishings and a bed that looks softer than any bed Gendry has ever laid on in his life. As he takes it all in, he realizes Arya has barred the door and is now removing her cloak.

“Whose room is this?”

She looks at him as if he is an idiot. “Mine.”

“What about you brother?”

“Jon?” Arya shrugs. “I think he shares his room with Daenerys, but if you’d like, they may let you sleep by the fire with Ghost.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, almost groaning as Arya’s nimble fingers begin to loosen his clothing, slower and more deliberate than the last time.

“I thought you’d like a warm bed.” She takes a step back, and Gendry sees it, the momentary flash of vulnerability before it disappears behind her usual mask. “But if you want to go – “

“I don’t,” he cuts in, his common sense screaming at him, “but I also don’t want to cause trouble for you.”

Arya smiles, as close to affectionate as she gets, as she toes off her boots. “You’re the only one around here who doesn’t seem to realize I _am_ the trouble.” 

Gendry catches her wrist as she reaches for the bottom of her shirts, suddenly energized in a way he hadn’t expected. “I like trouble.” Stepping closer, near crowding her, he lets go of her wrist and twists his fingers in the hem of her top shirt. “I want to take this off of you.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Then what are you waiting for?”

They are down to their skin, Arya sprawled atop him as they kiss, Gendry so desperate to get inside her he’d think she was deliberately tormenting him if he didn’t know better, when someone knocks on her door. Gendry breaks the kiss at once, looking at the door with concern, but Arya forcibly twists his face back to hers, taking his mouth again.

“Ignore it,” she orders against his lips when the knocking resumes after a pause. “I saved the bloody world. It’s not that important.”

It’s hard to argue with Arya on his best day, and Gendry certainly knows he is not going to be able to coherently argue when all his blood is in his cock and everything he wants in the world is literally at his fingertips. But then the knocking starts again, this time with Jon’s voice calling, “Arya?” and Gendry immediately pulls away.

Arya rolls her eyes as she climbs off the bed, grabbing a shapeless shift from a trunk and pulling it over her head. She unbars the door, cracking it open and sticking her head outside, and Gendry has just managed to get his trousers back up when Jon pushes his way into the room, talking about something related to the upcoming fight against Cersei Lannister.

Both he and Jon freeze, Gendry in fear, Jon in obvious shock. Arya moves quietly, putting herself between the two of them, and while Gendry thought he’d die many ways in the North, none of them involved being found half-naked with a stiff cock in Arya Stark’s bedchamber. 

“I’m going to kill you.”

Jon Snow isn’t loud when he makes the threat, isn’t a towering, fearsome presence, but Gendry feels the words in his bones and instinctively takes a step back.

Arya, meanwhile, rolls her eyes and snaps, “Oh, no, you are not! I’m not a little girl, and you’re hardly in a position to judge.”

Jon doesn’t kill him that day, which Gendry appreciates. He even continues to share Arya’s chamber and still Jon does not kill him.

But he _does_ near break Gendry’s jaw with one solid punch a few days later. It’s only after Gendry has hit the dirt, his head spinning, that Jon extends his hand to help him back up and Gendry knows this is the last punishment he’ll receive from Jon Snow.

At least for now anyway. Gendry doesn’t doubt for a moment that if Arya were to go to her big brother and report some slight, Jon Snow would feed Gendry to his dragon _and_ his direwolf.

* * *

**Three**

He’s never actually spoken to Sansa Stark. It hasn’t been by design, but prior to the battle, he spent night and day in the forge, and after the battle, she was busy with the work of running Winterfell. 

But it is because he’s never spoken to Sansa Stark that he is so surprised when she sidles up to him as he packs his saddlebags, prepared to march south, back to King’s Landing, and help Queen Daenerys take the Iron Throne from Queen Cersei.

“M’lady,” he fumbles, nearly falling to the dirt as he tries to both take the knee and incline his head, and he wonders why he always seems to be making an ass of himself in front of Arya’s siblings. “Can I – May I do something for you?”

“You can.” Lady Sansa pets his horse for a moment before adding, “You can return.”

“I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”

“You are marching to battle against the Lannister army and the Golden Company. It is a treacherous path, especially after the Long Night. You are from King’s Landing, correct? I thought Ser Davos said you have a shop there.”

“I worked in one, yeah, in Flea Bottom.”

“Do you intend to return to it?” When Gendry shakes his head, brow folding in confusion, Lady Sansa makes a face that is an expression so wholly Arya’s that he finally sees the family resemblance. “Are you staying in King’s Landing after Daenerys wins or are you coming back to Winterfell?”

“I had not thought – “ Gendry scratches his head. “If Winterfell is in need of an armorer, I am happy to – “

“There are dozens of armorers in the North. I hardly need to force you back here so you can pound steel in the forge.” Lady Sansa steps closer, her expression fierce. “Are you going to leave her?”

“Leave her? What – “ 

He stops, suddenly understanding what Lady Sansa is asking him. Though he and Arya have been as discreet as they can, there are few secrets left at Winterfell and, he suspects, even fewer kept from Lady Sansa. 

“If she wants me to come back, I will.”

“She won’t ask you. She’ll never admit she needs you, but she does.” A sad smile tugs at her lips. “You make her happy. You’ve – You’ve made her Arya again.”

Gendry isn’t certain what to say. 

Taking a step back, she folds her hands primly in front of her, ever the Northern lady. And then she says, “If you don’t come back, if you break her heart, I guarantee you I will spend every dragon in Winterfell’s coffers to see you destroyed.”

As Lady Sansa walks away, giving well wishes to the other soldiers and speaking kindly to all who pass, Gendry wonders if anyone else knows that Sansa Stark is infinitely scarier than her sister.

* * *

**Four**

“You’ve got a strange look on your face.”

Gendry looks over his shoulder at Ser Davos, who stands beside him on the wall of the Red Keep. The cool breeze off of Blackwater Bay against his face feels different up here, and he thinks of himself in that rowboat with the Red Woman, staring up at this place as she told him it was his father’s house.

“Never expected to find myself here, I suppose.”

Davos smirks. “Aye, a couple of Flea Bottom boys in the Red Keep? Can’t say many would’ve expected to find us here. But here we are.”

“Is this your first time?”

He shakes his head. “After the Rebellion when I helped your uncle Stannis, after he’d shortened my fingers, King Robert called us all here for his coronation. He gave me a place of honor at his table for feeding the people of Storm’s End during the siege. It didn’t feel real then and it hardly feels real now.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No, it was another man’s life. Live as long as I have, you’ll understand.” He gestures out towards the city. “Doesn’t look like such a shit hole from up here.”

Gendry laughs. “You know, when Mott gave me to the Night’s Watch, I thought, ‘At least I won’t die in this stinking place like my mum.’”

“You’ll not be staying then?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not home anymore. Not sure it ever really was.”

“Winterfell then?”

Gendry feels his cheeks warming, but he keeps his eyes turned towards the sea rather than the older man. “Most likely.”

“You know…I didn’t really know your father and, to be honest, I didn’t much care for him. Didn’t much know your Uncle Renly and at the end, I regretted knowing your Uncle Stannis. But your cousin Shireen, she was a good girl. Storm’s End should’ve gone to her. She’d have been a good Lady of Storm’s End.” He clears his throat, his words having grown thick with emotion. “They’re all gone now. You’re the last Baratheon, bastard or not. You know much about history?”

Gendry shakes his head.

“Orys Baratheon, the founder of the house? He was a bastard too.” Davos claps him on the shoulder. “And should you ever piss off your lady, Storm’s End is a good place to withstand a siege. I might even bring you some onions.”

Gendry smiles. “Thank you for that.”

“I’m going to give you the same advice my father gave me when Stannis had me knighted: ‘you fuck this up, I’m going to kill you.’”

“Inspiring.”

Davos grins. “Didn’t fuck it up though, did I?”

* * *

**Five**

He’s talked to Queen Daenerys plenty of times but never for himself. They’ve discussed weapons and dragonglass and even King’s Landing, but Gendry is certain the queen knows next to nothing about him and he doesn’t fault her for that. Hells, he isn’t even certain she knows he is Robert Baratheon’s bastard. But she does now, because as he stands before her and Jon Snow, he sees the pleasantness drain from her face.

“I never knew him,” Gendry rushes to explain, “and I didn’t even know he _was_ my father until the Red Woman told me. I don’t – I don’t have any true feelings about him, you see.”

“And yet here you are, standing before me in the castle he murdered my family to get, invoking his name.”

“I am a loyal subject, your grace. I fought for you in the North. I fought for you against Cersei. I do not want any thrones.”

“Then what _do_ you want?”

Gendry swallows hard. “A name, your grace, and all that comes with it.” When she says nothing, he rushes on, “There are no other Baratheons left. They killed each other during the War of the Five Kings. By rights, Storm’s End should pass to me.”

“I confess I am not always certain about these matters, but tell me, Jon, is it not true that a bastard son can inherit if there are no trueborn heirs?” When Jon nods, Daenerys shrugs. “Then you do not need legitimized for a holdfast. It is yours.”

“It is more than that. I wish – “ Gendry closes his eyes for a moment, wishing he was at good with words as he was with his hammer. “With all due respect, my queen, you don’t know what it’s like to go through your life with a bastard’s name. I don’t know anything about being lord of anything, but I know I’ve never met one who had a bastard’s name before Jon.”

“If you know nothing about being a lord, why do you want Storm’s End? Is it for gold? Because I can certainly pay you for all the work you did – “

“Is this about Arya?” Jon cuts in.

“Arya?” Realization dawns on Daenerys’s face. “So that’s what this is about then. You’ve fallen in love with someone above your station.”

Trying not to flinch from the reminder of their differences, Gendry manages, “I’d like to be able to offer her more than a forge, your grace. She deserves more than that.”

“She hasn’t struck me as someone who would dislike being a blacksmith’s wife.”

“I don’t know if she wants to be my wife at all,” he admits, “but I’ve been at the mercy of powerful people my entire life. I only want what’s rightfully mine.”

“Here is my concern, Gendry,” Queen Daenerys says after a long pause. “As the stories go, when my ancestors came to conquer Westeros, it was Aegon’s bastard brother who conquered the Stormlands for him. That’s hardly the only place our bloodlines intersect. Those few drops of Targaryen blood was why the Usurper was chosen to sit this throne. If I legitimize you, there are those who might think history needs to repeat itself.”

“I don’t want the Iron Throne. I don’t – I’d _never_ want it. If someone raised their swords against you, I’d raise my hammer against them.”

Daenerys smiles. “You say that now, but we cannot know – “

“I _know_ , your grace. I don’t want your throne.” Looking at Jon, he adds, “I just want Arya, if she’ll have me. I just want to have something to offer her if she will.”

He cannot read the looks exchanged between Queen Daenerys and Jon. All he knows is that he’s equally afraid he’s going to be set alight by Drogon as he is concerned he’s about to vomit all over the floor.

Finally, Daenerys says, “I’ll grant you your request: the name, the title, all it entails. But I will need you to understand something.”

“Of course.”

“Should you ever betray me, if you should even _think_ of betraying me and I find out, I _will_ make certain you are the last Baratheon.”

It is easy enough to swear to the Dragon Queen he will be loyal. He truly does not want her throne.

But it’s still not comforting to know a woman with dragons is prepared to kill you.

* * *

**+1**

“If you ever get me pregnant again, I’ll kill you.”

Gendry smiles as he looks up from the newborn babe in his arms, his exhausted wife finally having woke from her well-deserved sleep. She’d labored so long, he’d been afraid he might lose her, but the maester insisted it had been a fast birth. When she’s at full strength again, Gendry suspects Arya might try to kill him too for saying something so dumb.

“I don’t think I made this beauty all on my own.”

Arya rolls her head on the pillow to look at him, and her brow furrows. “It’s so small. It felt bigger.”

He carefully rises from his chair, coming around to perch on the bed beside Arya. “ _She_ , m’lady. We have a daughter.”

“A daughter?” Arya winces as she slides herself up in the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “I thought the maester said she was a boy.”

“You were cursing so loud, you must’ve misunderstood.” He laughs as she glares, and the baby blinks awake, making a small sound before quieting again. “I assure you, she’s a girl.”

“Well, give her to me then.” 

She extends her arms, and Gendry carefully sets their daughter in Arya’s arms, already steadier than Gendry’s had been when the maester handed her over after cleaning her. It had been hellish, waiting while Arya labored and then waiting again as they cleaned the baby and Arya. By the time he and the babe returned to Arya’s room, Arya was asleep, and Gendry has felt as if he was bursting with emotion with no one to share it all. And as he watches Arya take in the sight of the child they made together he sees the same emotions starting to flood her as well.

“She’s so beautiful,” Arya whispers, one careful finger tracing the fullness of her cheek and the small bump of her nose. “And she has so much hair! Rickon didn’t have this much when he was born. Her hair is going to be as thick as yours.”

“She has your eyes,” he tells her, moving further onto the mattress. “She’ll need a name.”

They’d only picked a boy’s name, the maester having been so certain Arya was carrying a son. Gendry had been certain that when their child was born, it would be Eddard Baratheon. When the maester informed him the babe was a girl, Gendry’s first thought was he didn’t know any girls’ names.

“Do you want to name her after your mother?”

Arya looks at him, tears in her eyes. “No, no, I don’t think she’s a Catelyn. Do you know what your mum’s name was?”

He hasn’t thought of his own mother in so long, it surprises him how quickly he’s able to answer. “Jeana.”

“Jeana,” Arya repeats, glancing down at the babe. “Jeana Baratheon. It sounds nice.”

Gendry nods, a knot forming in his throat. “Aye.”

“Jeana it is then.” Arya touches the soft black hair capping her head. “She’ll inherit before her brothers. That’s how we’re going to do it.”

Gendry smiles. “How is she going to have brothers if you kill me for getting you pregnant again?”

Arya shrugs. “Just in case you do, we should have a plan. And the plan is she will be the Lady of Storm’s End and won’t be displaced by her brothers.” Arya lifts her grey eyes and smiles at him, clearly still exhausted but a hint of playfulness in her expression. “I can always kill you when I’m pregnant. You’re still terrible with a sword.”

As he sits on the bed, his wife and daughter with him, Gendry thinks he cannot imagine a sweeter threat than having even more of this. It would be worth meeting the end of Arya’s sword.

But as Davos has always told him, they are experts at escaping death, Gendry and Arya, so Gendry thinks he might just survive this threat on his life too.


End file.
